


Everything I Never Knew I Needed

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Backstory, Bad Sex, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Cinnamon Roll Percival Graves, Communication Failure, Credence is an actual angel, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Five Plus One Things, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Pairings, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Self-Esteem Issues, Top Credence Barebone, Top Gellert Grindelwald, Top Theseus Scamander, Unrequited Love, and he makes Percy happy, as a contrast to all the times Percival couldn't spit out what it was he really wanted, because he sucks at communication, but it's ok he gets better, which is good bc our boys deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: Companion oneshot for "Welcome to the I.V. League." Five times Percival Graves let someone fuck him, +1 time he asked someone to make love to him.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Original Percival Graves/Gellert Grindelwald, Original Percival Graves/Langdon Shaw, Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamanded (one-sided), Original Percival Graves/Original Male Character(s), Original Percival Graves/Theseus Scamander
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Everything I Never Knew I Needed

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who has read I.V. League, y'all know how things end with Graves and Grindelwald. I wanna make it clear, that is NOT what happens here. There is NO non-con in this fic.
> 
> There are some instances of crappy communication, however, so I also want to stress nothing here is intended as dub-con. There is some not-so-great sex, but it's all about the lack of communication and Graves being too inexperienced and/or too unsure to speak up for himself. Again I want to stress, *nothing happens here without a freely given 'yes.'*
> 
> On a happier note, feel free to picture Tom Hiddleston as Dr. Sharpe, and Jason Momoa as the mysterious Halloween party hookup ;)
> 
> And...SPOILERS FOR I.V. LEAGUE. SEXY SPOILERS. BE WARNED. ;)

  1. January, 1997



The first time Percival Graves has sex, it is absolutely nothing at all like how he expected it would be.

He’s never seen it done (God save the idiot who tries to get porn smuggled under Tierney Graves’ roof), but he’s heard plenty. Sera, his best friend, is part of the _Star Trek_ fandom and has snuck him some Kirk/Spock fan fiction that he read until he had it memorized (and then threw it away—see above). So he’s only ever seen or known an exotic and romanticized version of it, yes, but he’s not entirely naive, he knows what sex _is,_ in theory how it should be _done,_ but…

But that’s not how it happens. Not for him.

He goes over to Langdon Shaw’s house the night before holiday break ends in their senior year, because Langdon’s parents aren’t home and the two of them have been sneaking moments together in closets and darkened corners since their sophomore year and he thinks it might be nice to see what comes next. They steal shots of Jose Cuervo from Councilman Shaw’s liquor cabinet and watch some ancient James Bond movie on cable before Langdon clumsily leans in and steals a messy, wet kiss that shouldn’t be sexy, but it is just because it’s _forbidden_ and suddenly all Graves can think about is how badly he _wants._

“Let’s go to your room?” he offers breathlessly, and Langdon responds by grabbing him by the arm and hauling him upstairs.

He’s not sure how they decide who’s going to do what, but he’s very sure that he wants to see his not-quite boyfriend naked, so they start there, undressing and feeling each other up like there’s no tomorrow and by the time Langdon finally gets his mouth on him, Graves is so worked up it’s not two minutes before he comes with a sharp, barely-suppressed cry.

Having accomplished that, Langdon shoves him onto the bed face first and crawls up behind him. “I’m gonna fuck you now, ’kay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Graves shivers and presses his face into a pillow to muffle what he doesn’t know should not be a cry of pain as Langdon pushes an unlubricated finger into him. He thinks, _just hold on, it’ll get better, you’ve read the stories, no one would do this if it didn’t feel good._

It doesn’t get better. “Stop,” he pleads after a minute. “It hurts.”

“Shit, hold on—” Langdon briefly vanishes into the bathroom and returns with something slick and greasy on his fingers, and the intrusion is still unfamiliar and awkward, but it doesn’t _hurt_ like it did before…but it doesn’t feel good, either.

The sex itself, when it finally happens, _is_ painful and it’s awkward, and it feels so cold and impersonal. Used to watching the pleasure and excitement play out over Langdon’s face as he sucks him or jerks him off, Graves feels so detached not being able to see the person who’s fucking him. He hates it, but he can’t think of any better way to do this, so he endures and holds out desperate hope that, even if not this time, it will _eventually_ get better.

Graves presses his face into the pillow the whole time—thankfully Langdon, who is also seventeen and perpetually horny, doesn’t last long—and nearly suffocates himself as he bites into the pillowcase against a pain he isn’t sure he should be feeling. When Langdon finally grunts out his release and rolls off of him all Graves can think is, _that’s it? That’s what people write songs and poems and stories about? That’s what people are willing to die for?_

He gets up and gets dressed and leaves while Langdon is passed out next to him. Walks home through the biting winter chill and tries not to think. Tries to summon up some minor bit of triumph over having lost his virginity, but the closest he can come to that is _well, at least_ that’s _over with._

~

  1. August, 2000



Graves eventually gets over his initial distrust of sex after the painful, awkward experience with Langdon. He experiments a little during his community college days and learns that it _is_ supposed to feel good, they just didn’t do it right. There are things about sex that he doesn’t like (really, can _no one_ find even _one_ better position than fucking him from behind? it’s so goddamn impersonal and he hates it), but there’s plenty of fun to be had too, so really, it’s okay. He’s okay.

He is twenty-one when he falls in love for the first time and it’s great, it _would_ be great, if it wasn’t with his very straight and very unusual roommate.

Newt Scamander is everything Graves can’t admit he wants to be: uninhibited and lively and achingly sweet. He goes to parties not for the free booze, but to make sure that the girls in attendance aren’t taken advantage of. He volunteers at the local animal shelter. He sneaks his pet snake into the dorms (which causes some issues on the first day, because Graves is man enough to admit that he’s fucking terrified of snakes). And of course he’s stupidly attractive, and from the very first day of nursing school, Graves is deeply and utterly gone on him.

And of course, Newt has a girlfriend. Fantastic.

To make himself feel better, Graves flirts a little with his transcultural healthcare professor, who is known to be “queer” in one of those full-school open secrets. There’s some unspoken, odd detente there, knowing that as long as he doesn’t say anything no one will do anything, and Graves likes the idea of being wanted by someone who is both attractive and safe. No way, he thinks, will this go anywhere, no matter how often the kindly Dr. Sharpe hands back his papers with a little heart or smiley face scrawled in red ink next to a shining A+.

But at the end of the seven-week class, right after Graves turns in his final paper, the handsome professor asks him to come to his office after class. Graves does, stupidly thinking the man wants to just talk about his paper.

Instead he is pressed up against the closed door and kissed in a way that makes his head spin and his knees go weak. In a split second his world rearranges itself and Dr. Sharpe goes from an innocent flirtation to a potential conquest, and he is immediately swept away in the sudden unexpected cyclone of pleasure.

His clothes are pulled off with rough abandon, the man’s stubble drawing red streaks across his skin and lighting him on fire, teeth sinking into his neck and his earlobe and his lower lip. He’s never been fond of painful sex, not since that first time, but the pain adds a sharp edge to the pleasure and he’s surprised at how good it feels, how much he wants the man to keep going.

“I wanna fuck you across my desk,” the professor breathes in his ear, hot and forbidden and _good._ “Can I, honey? Will you let me?”

“Yeah, okay, do it,” he pants, trembling like a nervous virgin and too far gone to stop himself.

Everything on the desk is swept to the floor like in a movie and Graves is surprised to find himself splayed out on his back like a starfish. No one has ever given it to him like this before, and he lets out a cry of mingled shock and delight when Dr. Sharpe, instead of turning him over to fuck him, throws his legs over his shoulders and watches his face through hungry eyes as he fingers him open.

“Is that good, honey?” he purrs as he plunges lube-slick fingers inside, licking his lips as Graves’ eyes roll up into his head. “You gonna come for me if I keep doing this to you, huh?”

He makes a strangled noise that should indicate _yes_ and feels a deep, impossible thrill when Dr. Sharpe thrusts into him. Fire bursts through his veins and he cries out again, his body held taut like a clothesline as he is pushed ever-closer to the most intense orgasm he’s ever had.

It’s pretty sad, he thinks afterwards, as he dresses himself with shaking hands and the professor calmly re-orders his desk as if nothing happened, that the best sex of his life just happened with a man who could very obviously not care less about him. He feels shivery and small and insignificant as he walks back to his dorm and curls up on his narrow bed.

He wanted something exciting, wanted something that would take his mind off his unrequited crush. But now he just feels more alone than ever.

~

  1. July, 2004



Graves finishes his undergraduate program the proud owner of a Bachelor of Science-Nursing and a new best friend. Once he got over that initial one-sided crush, it was easier than anything to let Newt in and be his friend, to become the platonic soulmates they were obviously always meant to be. The problem (because there’s always a problem with Graves, _always)_ comes in the form of Newt’s stupidly attractive older brother.

The summer after undergrad he goes up to Torch Lake with the Scamander family for a much-needed rest. He plans at first to stay home and study for the NCLEX, but his family all but shove him out the door with instructions to not open another schoolbook until he’s gained at least ten pounds and the dark circles have gone from under his eyes. Reuben phrases it a little more bluntly: “You look dead, lad. Go get some damned sun before someone mistakes you for a corpse and buries you.”

So he goes to the lake, and he sleeps outside in a hammock and swims for at least three hours a day and eats barbecue and freshly-caught fish and does absolutely nothing productive, and it goes on this way for a long, beautiful month before he does something incredibly stupid.

On the 4th of July the whole family gathers to watch the fireworks and drink imported beer, and no shortage of jokes are made about a British family and their son’s Irish best friend celebrating an aggressively American holiday. They toast marshmallows and hot dogs over an open flame and it’s _nice,_ and Graves finally understands why his parents were so worried about him because now that he remembers how it feels to relax, he realizes just how miserable he was all of that last semester.

When the others go inside to bed after the fireworks, Theseus (Theo, he insists on being called, because he hates his full first name, something to which “Percy Graves” can deeply relate) slips his hand into Graves’ and says, “Want to go for a swim with me?” and Graves is too stunned to do anything but accept.

They go along down to a mostly-secluded cove near the forest, and when Theo unceremoniously strips off his clothes Graves does the same. He likes Theo, always has, and he’d be stupid not to notice how hot the guy is, but he’s Newt’s brother and while Graves has known for some time now that he’s not in love with Newt, something about this feels…off.

But the cool water feels so good on his hot and sticky skin, and when he sinks in up to his neck the knot of renewed tension inside him eases. He lets himself relax against Theo, made perhaps a little too loose and easy by alcohol, and the late hour, and the sudden onslaught of physical sensation. Theo’s hands are strong and certain against his skin, pressing into his lower back and gently grinding their bodies together, and Graves lets out a soft, helpless little moan as Theo’s mouth finds his neck.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers into the night air. “We shouldn’t…God, you’re my best friend’s brother, what the fuck am I doing…”

“You won’t be the first friend of Newt’s I’ve slept with,” Theo tells him candidly. “He won’t mind. He never does.”

They swim back to the shallows and Graves lets Theo lie him back in the water and slip his fingers inside him. “Please don’t go too fast,” he requests in a voice that sounds weak and distant even to his own ears. “I don’t like it rough.”

Theo says it’s okay, that he won’t hurt him. He fingers Graves open, slow and careful as promised, and even goes so far as to fish a lubricated condom out of his discarded shorts before they get to the main event. He came prepared. This was premeditated, and Graves is not at all sure how he feels about that.

Ever polite, Theo pauses before he pushes his way inside. “May I?” he says.

“Sure,” Graves replies, because what else is he going to say at that point, really?

It’s good. Theo is gentle and steady and sure of himself, and he knows what to touch and how to touch it in order to bring Graves right to the brink. He doesn’t take him from behind, either, which makes things feel so much better and so much more intimate, and he doesn’t seem to mind that Graves clings to him, needy and breathless, as he tips over the edge.

“Easy there,” Theo hums soothingly as Graves shivers through his climax. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Graves doesn’t even want to know why it makes him feel so good to be held and babied like that as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, and he’s not sure he really likes it even if it does feel nice.

He goes to bed with his hair wet and lake water still drying on his skin, and it cools him down and makes him feel sleepy, but it also makes him feel soft and exposed and he ends up leaving the hammock where he’s slept all summer and actually going into the bedroom where he _should_ have been sleeping all summer.

Graves sleeps with Theo a few more times before summer is over, and on the last morning of their stay he nervously tells Newt as they pack, “I think I might be falling for your brother.”

He expects ribbing, a little bit of playful shock and feigned disgust, maybe some classic Newt Scamander over-explaining, and then acceptance. Because that’s how it always is with them. Instead, Newt looks stricken. “You can’t,” he says, and before Graves can protest, Newt tells him unhappily, “He’s engaged to his boss’ daughter.”

Oh. Well then.

Newt apologizes profusely, but Graves won’t have it. It’s not Newt’s fault. Hell, it’s not even Theo’s fault. It’s no one’s fault but his own, because he really should know better than to think he’s allowed a romantic happily-ever-after at this point.

~

  1. October, 2008



“You need,” Seraphina tells Graves impatiently at a Macusa-sponsored Halloween party, “to find someone you actually give a shit about.”

“Yeah, because that always works out so well for me. Weren’t you the one who just told me the other day I need to be more careful, that you’ve—how did you phrase it—‘dried enough of my tears?’” Graves rolls his eyes. “Way to make me feel like a man, Picquery. Thanks a lot.”

Seraphina refuses to let up. “I’m not apologizing for saying something true. Now, as I was—oh for _fuck’s sake.”_

Graves follows her gaze to…oh, _yeah._ To call the man “hot” would be like saying nursing school was a little difficult. He’s taller, definitely older (Graves would estimate maybe…35, 40 perhaps?), sun-streaked dark hair, dark eyes, muscles for fucking days. He’s only made the barest concession to the party’s Halloween dress code, an Aquaman costume t-shirt stretched tight over his ripped body. Okay. Yeah. That’s…that’ll work.

“And there he is, the ‘daddy of the night,’” Seraphina sighs exasperatedly when she sees Graves hungrily staring at the man. “I don’t suppose you’ll reconsider?”

Graves tears his eyes away from the man to look at his worried best friend. “I’m just going to ask for his number, that’s it,” he promises.

Twenty minutes later, he’s pinned against the wall of what he _thinks_ is a conference room, a hot mouth devouring his neck and a hand between his legs. He _did_ ask for the man’s number and his name. And what he got in response was a playful, “Just call me Aquaman,” and a deliberate once-over, dark eyes going even darker with lust. With a tug of Graves’ hair, the man gives him one last love bite before whispering, “Go to your knees for me, baby.”

He should not like this, _he should not,_ this is fucking _dangerous,_ he doesn’t know this man, and yet—down he goes, his mouth watering at the sight of the man’s massive dick. “Condom,” he croaks, reduced to one-word sentences.

The man obligingly rolls on a condom and moans appreciatively when Graves dives straight in, swirling his tongue around the swollen head and sucking it in as far as he can. He knows better than to think he can fit _that_ down his throat, so he focuses instead on using his tongue to tease the man until a hand tugs on his hair and draws him back up to his feet. “You’re great at that,” the man purrs in his ear, “but I just wanna fuckin’ _wreck_ you. You good with that?”

“Yeah,” Graves says, breathless, as the man shoves his pants down and palms his cock like it’s his damn job. “Yeah, okay, that’s— _oh._ That’s good.”

He’s shoved facedown onto the conference table and feels the man’s mouth at the back of his neck, a hand diving between his legs. He dislikes being taken from behind and he’s about to say so when a lubricated finger dips into his hole and hits a spot that makes him moan, and all rational thought flies out of his head.

For all his talk of “wrecking” Graves, the man is a surprisingly gentle lover. He’s a bit too fond of saying things like, “yeah, fuckin’ take it” and “mmm, so slutty and horny for me, baby” for Graves’ taste, but the dirty talk is mellowed by how careful he is when he pushes in, how loosely he pretends to hold Graves down as he fucks him. He doesn’t exactly treat Graves like he’s made of glass, but he’s clearly conscious of what he’s got between his legs and doesn’t want to use it as a weapon, which is nice.

But it’s still so impersonal, and Graves does not like being able to touch his partner while they fuck, and afterwards he’s unceremoniously handed a pack of wet wipes, the man acknowledging their coupling with a smirk and a casual, “Thanks, cutie. That was fun,” before pulling his pants back up and disappearing without giving Graves a chance to reply.

He cleans himself up and dresses alone, with shaking hands, hating his own weakness. “Loving and leaving” has never been his style; he likes to be held and calmed after sex, especially after _good_ sex, because coming hard makes him feel a little unsteady and he likes that, but he likes it much better when someone stays with him afterwards.

Seraphina is waiting when he returns to the party. She doesn’t judge, doesn’t say anything. Just hands Graves a drink and slips a hand through the crook of his arm, silently letting him know _I’m here when you’re ready to talk._

~

  1. May, 2013



Graves hates his preceptor at Macusa with a burning passion. Lockhart is an arrogant son of a bitch, yes, but more than that, he’s cruel. He takes actual delight in scolding patients for being non-compliant and doesn’t seem to care about the low-income patients who _can’t_ comply because they can’t afford their medication or work 16-hour days and don’t have time to exercise.

Graves hates him. But he very much likes the man he sees every morning in line at Starbucks, the man with faintly-gray hair and intense dark eyes and a smile that seems to say _I know things, and if I like you maybe I’ll tell you what I know._

He doesn’t flirt with the man, he doesn’t have _time,_ but he trades shy smiles with him over the rims of their take-out cups and watches from afar, and he likes the simplicity of his crush, the easy, pleasant, pressureless feeling of seductive butterflies blossoming in his stomach when the handsome man looks his way.

Of course, with Graves, nothing is ever that easy.

Eventually he finds himself in a hotel room with Gellert. That’s his name, Gellert Grindelwald, and Graves might find it funny, a comic-book supervillain name, if the man didn’t do things with his tongue that make him feel faint. Holed up together in a bland hotel room, stuffed with free corporate buffet food after the longest and most boring nursing conference either of them has ever attended and a little tipsy on cheap champagne, Graves finds himself melting wonderfully under Gellert’s skilled hands. 

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he says as Gellert undresses him, and suddenly he feels almost as nervous as he did that first time with Langdon Shaw.

Gellert pauses, briefly taken aback, and then he says, “All right,” and goes back to taking Graves apart.

Gellert is a fast worker, every touch and kiss specifically designed to make Graves want more. It feels good, addictive, like a sexual counterpart to the White Witch’s Turkish delight, and Graves falls easily, soft and pliant and almost painfully aroused. When Gellert whispers a commanding _I’m going to fuck you now_ in his ear, he all but sobs out a frantic _yes._

He doesn’t really _like_ going about it this way, per se; they’ve only been at it for about ten minutes and he prefers a slow burn to a quick, frenzied hookup. But ten minutes feels like an age when you’re so horny you could explode, and Gellert seems to know instinctively how to work his body and make him utterly desperate for it, so he gives in with a broken little moan when Gellert pushes his way inside.

It’s…good. Really good. He likes that Gellert doesn’t try to fuck him from behind or call him _bitch_ or _slut_ or any of the other degrading things that people seem to enjoy calling men who prefer to bottom. He likes that Gellert touches him while he fucks him, likes being turned on to the point of feeling disoriented. He doesn’t like being taken hard and fast, never has, but he thinks maybe if it feels like this he could get used to it.

When he comes it’s so intense it almost hurts, even more so when Gellert insists on fucking him through it and then insists again on blowing Graves after coming inside him. He’s not sure he likes the overstimulation, but Gellert is very persistent and Graves convinces himself as he comes again with a sharp gasp that he’s okay with this, even if it’s not exactly what he wants.

Because it does feel good—after all, he gets multiple orgasms out of it—and afterwards Gellert is kind enough to let Graves snuggle up to him and put his head on his chest as they drift off to sleep. He’d prefer to be held, even just to have an arm around him, but most of his partners don’t even stay the night, so this is as good as he can hope for, really.

~

+1. December, 2018

By the time he finds and falls in love with Credence Barebone, Graves feels wounded and stretched thin. Putting himself into the hands of a lover used to be thrilling, but after his last disastrous relationship he doesn’t think he can ever trust someone so deeply again. He hasn’t dated in years and he thinks it might be better that way. Why keep longing for something that will never come to pass?

But Credence has a way of opening him up, soothing the parts that ache and kissing his fears into quiet submission. After their first date Graves pushes the boy away, holds off a first kiss that he craves so badly it almost hurts, and tells Credence he wants to, _needs_ to, go slow. When they eventually cave and make out on the couch for the first time he aches to let Credence in, to teach his young sweetheart how to touch him, but again he holds off.

He’s not afraid of Credence, and he doesn’t think Credence will leave him after they have sex; he’s not that kind of a man and Graves knows it. But they have both been broken and he’s so painfully aware of it, and he does not want this fragile thing between them to shatter before it has a chance to flourish. And so they wait.

They build up to it, slowly and steadily. He lets Credence touch him and explore him, lets his shy, sweet, virginal lover experiment before they get around to the main event. Credence has never had anyone before, and Graves doesn’t want either of them to get overwhelmed. So they wait, until one beautiful winter night when they’re alone in his childhood home and they’ve shared a tender slow dance, and Credence is holding him like he’s the most precious goddamn thing in the universe, and Graves knows tonight is the night, he knows this is it, that he is never going to feel this way about anyone again.

“Take me, sweetheart, _please.”_

Graves opens his eyes and looks his fill at the beautiful boy kneeling beside him, three fingers deep and staring at Graves as if he’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He’s so gentle, each movement telegraphed to the extreme. He offers everything he thinks Graves might need in order to be more comfortable, even going so far as to ask if Graves wants to come before Credence takes him, and it’s the sweetest damn thing Graves has ever seen or heard in his whole life.

“I love you,” Credence sighs when he finally takes Graves. He pushes his way in so carefully, eyes wide, fascinated by the way his lover’s body so easily receives his. It’s like they’re fucking _made_ for each other.

“You can move,” Graves tells him. “I _want_ you to move.” He feels weightless, absolutely relaxed even though he’s desperately aroused; he knows that whatever Credence does next will bring him nothing but pleasure.

He’s right. Credence has never topped anyone before but God, the kid has killer instincts. He starts slow and gentle, gradually going faster and bringing them both to a crescendo. As they get closer he urges Graves to touch himself, angles his thrusts to hit that perfect spot inside him, and sets him right over the edge by whispering _come for me, angel_ in his ear.

When Graves finally comes, writhing desperately in his beautiful boy’s arms, it doesn’t just feel like a great orgasm (which it is, make no mistake)—it feels like catharsis. Like he’s been waiting his whole goddamn life for _just_ this moment. Like even the best sex he’s had before now, has just been practice so that when the time comes, he can easily lose himself in Credence Barebone’s arms.

Credence collapses over him, panting and trembling, and instinctively Graves closes his arms around him because he knows that someone as sensitive as Credence will absolutely want to be cuddled after sex. To his surprise, Credence only allows himself to be held for a moment before he rolls off Graves and hastily cleans them off, and then slips an arm under his neck. “C’mere,” he murmurs sleepily, tugging Graves close to his side. “Want you to lay on me.”

And Graves is selfish enough that he can’t say no to that. He nestles up to Credence and feels a long, slender arm wrap protectively around him, and every muscle in his body loosens simultaneously as his head falls against Credence’s chest. He wraps an arm around Credence’s waist and lets their bodies mould together, close to tears with how good it feels.

The sound of Credence’s heartbeat is steady and calming, easily soothing him into a trance-like state of perfect relaxation as he lies warm and protected in his lover’s gentle embrace. “I love you,” he sighs, his mind blissfully empty and his heart overflowing with every pleasant emotion he’s ever known, feeling so vulnerable and yet so _safe._

 _This is it,_ is his last coherent thought before he drifts off to sleep. _This is what they write songs about, this is why they say it’s worth dying for. This is how it’s supposed to be._

_This is how it feels to be loved._


End file.
